Peach Sorbet
by The Next-Gen Fanatics
Summary: The stories of Dominique Weasley and Lysander Scamander, from two different perspectives. - twoshot - DominiqueLysander - complete!
1. Erin & Vicky

**Disclaimer: Consider them disclaimed.**

**This story is a twoshot written for our Write-Off competition, with one pair writing each chapter. Both had the same prompts, and after the second chapter is posted, there will be a poll on our profile page asking which chapter you liked better, and that will be the winning story.**

**Pair:** Erin (whatabeautifulmess) + Vicky (incandescent dreams)  
><strong>Couple:<strong> DominiqueLysander  
><strong>Prompts:<strong> hufflepuff!Dominique, peach sorbet, a lonely man

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><p>Her eyes twinkle with unrecognised mischief, a spark so bright held within those jewel-like shapes that it's almost impossible to miss them; their vivid blue colour shines– not like a mere cloudless sky, no, more like the deep, comforting shade of blue that the sky turns to it approaches the end of the day. It's the blue that submerges the dregs of the day and releases those shining beacons of hope – <em>stars<em> – and it's impossible to deny how Dominique's eyes capture those who look into them.

(Not that anyone does, of course; she's _just _Hufflepuff Dominique, not the shining, brave Gryffindor Dominique, so why would anyone care?)

Dominique reaches out for the butter to spread over her toast. Physically, she's sat with her fellow Hufflepuffs, yet she feels utterly isolated at the same time: she's only completely accepted when she's with her family, people with whom she shares certain personality traits, because it's always been the opinion of the other Hufflepuffs that she doesn't belong with them. Their personalities, in comparison to the bold, stated ones of the other three houses, seem to take on the same colour and complexion as peach sorbet – entirely forgettable, able to be moulded to whatever is needed…but she's brighter than that; to her fellows, she's vibrant and stands out from the rest.

(They don't care that she feels as if she's only at home with them because they're the same, something she's sure is because of her surname.)

"Drat," she mutters as she knocks the beaker of pumpkin juice over, the ornate cup falling onto its side to allow the contents to spread hastily across the table. _Trust this to be the one day there's a table cloth_, she thinks in despair, watching as the crisp white cover becomes indelibly coloured a murky brown.

Her attention, however, is captured by the fleet of owls flying in through the far east window, her eyes, as per usual, searching to see if she's been granted any mail. If her parents' owl, or her grandparents', appears, she's usually assured that it's never got anything to bring to her, that darling _Victoire_ is required to be given yet another piece of information about what she could do when she leave Hogwarts in June; or it's Louis needing to be chastised about the latest owl home. No, Dominique is usually left out, the only Hufflepuff being the only child who rarely receives outright attention just for _her_.

The grey feathers of Pilon, the owl her parents bought so that they would have contact with their children when they went to Hogwarts, capture her attention, the way that they shine with a brightness unable to be constituted to the atmosphere around them, as usual, making her wonder how beautiful he would be if he were human. The distinct way they separated themselves, so each silky smooth feather could be distinguished, yet merged together in such a complete way at the same time continues to amaze her…as does the plopping of a letter down in front of her.

Addressed merely to _her_, she rips open the parchment envelope to reveal a letter written in her Mother's hand, the script, as usual, sweeping across the page in such a flowing manner that it continues to leave Dominique wistful that she couldn't have at least inherited the ability to write in a neat manner.

**...**

_To my darling daughter,_

_Your grandmother asked me to remind you that you promised to visit at Easter, along with the rest of the family – apparently, she worries that you will not turn up, having forgotten that you were supposed to be attending!_

_I believe there was a threat about withholding Easter eggs unless all arrive safely!_

_We shall see you soon, Dominique; we miss you dearly._

_All our love,_

_Mum and Dad_

* * *

><p>As she looks up, Dominique catches sight of all the other Weasley and Potter children in the Great Hall, all of whom are reading letters – <em>it cannot be a coincidence<em>, _they have all be reminded to attend_.

Apparently the threat of no Easter eggs must apply to the parents as well, otherwise there wouldn't be this mad rush to ensure they all attend!

Pushing the slight feeling of hurt beneath the surface that she hadn't just been written to because her mum wanted to, Dominique's gaze is captured by the Slytherin in the centre of his table, someone who makes her cheeks flare a brilliant scarlet every time she even _looks_ at him. Lysander Scamander: fellow fifth-year, someone she was too shy to get to know as a child and well known arrogant toe-rag of the school.

(Well, she thinks there's a side to him that _is_ nicer…or so she hopes.)

And, to her intense dismay at times, she's hopelessly in love with him.

She's not sure _how_, or even why, as they've barely spoken two words in their five years together, all his comments she's heard having been entirely obnoxious or derogatory to anyone other than a Slytherin (and often both). He's not rude to the Weasleys, partially because they spend every holiday together, and, from afar, Dominique sees his walls begin to fall, watches as his personality softens to what she recollects from their childhood.

Not that that makes any difference now, as his hair shines a brilliant gold, equivalent to the sun shining on a glorious summer's day, his frame tall and broad –all things she can notice instantly, from barely a second's glance. She barely knows him, has a limited knowledge of what he likes, and yet she's fallen hopelessly for him.

She'll never tell him this, of course. He's a Slytherin and she's a lowly Hufflepuff; they're complete opposites in personality…and why would he want _her_, when he could probably date any girl in this school? Well, other than Victoire.

"Dom!" As she rises to leave the table, no longer hungry for some unfathomable reason, her younger brother calls her name, running after her. "Did you get the letter?" he asks and she nods.

"Yep…looks like we're heading to The Burrow for another fortnight of fun, festivities and pure mayhem," she smiles, realising just how much she's looking forward to this.

"Well at least _you_ didn't get canary creams shoved down your pants when you fell asleep _at five am_," Louis grumbles as they walk out of the Hall together, heading to do their own thing.

Yet, just as the door closes, Dominique turns back and catches a glimpse of Lysander. For the first time in so many years, she sees him relaxed, not talking, not boasting, not being admired – just staring.

Staring almost where she had just been sat.

* * *

><p>The holidays arrive – finally – and the extended Weasley-Potter clan descends on the Burrow as planned, just like they do every year – the threat of no Easter eggs is far too serious to risk, obviously. Old Mrs Weasley clucks her tongue as she looks them over, and promises to fatten them all up before the go back to school.<p>

"You're all so thin," she cries. "The food must have gotten a lot worse since my day." No one likes to correct to her, to say that they just don't have that big an appetite – it'll only hurt her feelings, so they make the best of it, slipping the food they can't eat into their pockets or a napkin and feeding it to the gnomes later on.

During the second week, the Scamander twins join them, as is their tradition – Luna and Rolf know that the boys want a chance to see their friends outside of school, as well as Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest who make up their extended family; and so they take the opportunity to go on another trip around the world, searching for more creatures previously unknown to wizard kind.

The first week is always fun, but it's never a patch on the second week. At the Burrow, all the kids can be a group, a unit, like they never can at Hogwarts. It lets them pretend that they're five years old again, back in a time before everything changed and got complicated.

At least, it does until Thursday night, when James suggests a game of Truth or Dare.

They're all sitting around in the old garage, which Nanna Weasley has finally persuaded her husband to clear of all the "Muggle rubbish" he's been keeping in there. It's been carpeted and painted a light, cheerful blue; and the children like to pile in there when there isn't enough room for them all in the house, which is most of the time. They sit around, eat far too much, and swap stories and secrets.

And play Truth or Dare, apparently. Or, at least, that's what James wants.

"Come on," he says, "it'll be fun. Victoire?"

Victoire takes a bite out of her peach and chews it thoughtfully. Everyone else turns to look at her, waiting for her answer. As the oldest, she is considered the leader of the group, and everyone will follow her lead.

"…Okay. We'll try it."

"Yes!" James punches the air. "Okay, okay, I'll go first…Louis," he says, turning to his cousin, "truth or dare?"

Louis pauses, considering. "Truth."

"Have you…have you ever kissed someone?" James asks after a short pause. Louis flushes a faint pink but answers calmly enough.

"Yes, I have."

Everyone else immediately pounces on this revelation.

"Really? Who?"

"When?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Louis ignores them all. "One question only," he says with dignity. "I'm not telling you."

"Oh, you're no fair," Dominique moans, throwing a handful of grapes at her brother. No one notices Lorcan's flushed cheeks and suspiciously bright eyes.

"Get on with it!" Albus calls from the corner of the room.

"All right…Rose, truth or dare?" Louis asks, glad the attention of the group has turned away from him.

"Truth," Rose says promptly. She doesn't hesitate, and all her cousins roll their eyes. How predictable – Rose always plays it safe.

"Do you, or do you not, have a crush on one Scorpius Malfoy?" Louis says, just as promptly and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Rose's eyes widen. "What? N-no, of course I – I don't know what you mean. What are you talking about?" she splutters.

"You picked _truth, _Rosie," Roxanne says mildly, examining her nails. "Try telling it."

"Or at least be a good enough liar that we can't tell," Lucy adds, speaking for the first time this evening, a twinkle in her eyes about little Rose's crush. Having made her point, she returns to her book and falls silent.

"I don't like Scorpius, though!" Rose protests, her voice rising shrilly.

Everyone rolls their eyes again. "Sure, Rose…just get on with it, we're getting bored."

"Fine," Rose huffs, looking put out. "Dom, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Dominique says, and the atmosphere in the room electrifies. Truths are all well and good, but it's rare that you learn anything you didn't already know. Now dares, dares are interesting. Dares have…potential.

"I dare you…to kiss Lysander."

There is a sharp intake of breath from the room at large and Dominique freezes. Of all the people Rose could have picked…

Lysander stares at her, confident. "Come on Dom, you can't turn down a dare."

Oh, bloody hell. Dominique glares at him, knowing he's trying to bait her – it's what he always does. He seems to think that just because he's the only Slytherin in the group, he has to be mean, has to try and live up to his house's reputation. Dominique knows he only does it because he's lonely, though.

"Fine," Dominique says tersely, shuffling closer to Lysander. She leans forwards, looks him directly in the eye, and presses her lips against his.

All those people who say that a true kiss feels like fireworks? They're lying. This feels more like a lightning bolt, making every inch of her skin tingle. Dominique leans closer at the same moment that Lysander deepens the kiss, and it's like there's nothing else in the world. They forget that they're in a room full of their friends and family, that this is just Truth or Dare, that they're not supposed to be enjoying this.

And then there's a wolf-whistle from the back of the room – probably James or Fred – and Dominique breaks away, eyes wide and horrified. Lysander stares back, a confident smirk still sketched across his face, and the traces of something unidentifiable lingering in his eyes; and Dominique realises that this is all just a game to him. On the other hand, she was never playing. So she jumps up, tears stinging her eyes, and runs out into the garden without looking back.

Louis stands up and closes the door behind his sister. "Rose," he asks, "was there any particular reason why you picked that dare for Dom?" She shakes her head, lips pursed, yet there's a strange glint in her eyes that almost contradicts her denial. Her eyes flicker to Lysander along with Louis', but Lysander doesn't notice. He's too busy staring at the solid wooden door, now closed. His gaze doesn't waver.

* * *

><p>Tears glitter in Dominique's eyes as she runs away from her family, runs away from the complex situation that is her own fault, really; if she hadn't <em>shown<em> how she felt when she did a stupid dare – if she hadn't chosen to take a damned _dare_ just to be 'different' – if she hadn't chosen to kiss Lysander, then she wouldn't be running away. They would still be laughing and joking, most likely whilst Molly and James made eyes at one another and hoped nobody would notice.

Unfortunately, she's destroyed that. Somehow, she let her feelings for Lysander be shown to the entire fucking Weasley/Potter/Scamander clan and now there's no way that she can go back without _someone_ sniggering about it. After all, when would this happen? She's a Hufflepuff – and a shy one at that – whereas he's almost the boss of the Slytherins, sort of like the mafia her Grandad Weasley seems obsessed with analysing.

Her feet slip slightly as she runs across the sodden grass to reach her childhood retreat, the place within the acres of land around The Burrow that is _hers_. The giant sycamore tree with its knotted and gnarled braches offers her a secluded hideaway, somewhere to fade into the background in.

The silhouette of the tree is stark in the moonlight, a stark contrast between the glow emitted from the moon to the density of the ebony shape that is _her_ tree, her safe haven where she could just be Dominique and not worry about families or friends or anything other than what _she_ wanted to do. Her gaze is fixed upon the point midway up the tree, somewhere she's adored for years; it's the place where she sits, located above the pain of the real world yet close enough for her never to have lost her grip on reality.

Somewhere behind her, she can hear calls for her to go back, hear what she presumes is the pursuit of one of her siblings, yet she doesn't falter, her hair whipping over her shoulder as she turns in the direction of the place upon the tree she desires. The tree's circumference is most likely greater than the width of her bedroom at home, she randomly thinks as one foot bounces off the large root at the foot of the tree to give her the momentum to rise up onto the branch.

Her back rests against the main trunk of the tree as the tears begin to slide down her face at a faster rate, the tracks hot on her cool face as she moves to place her face within her hands. It's more than just the embarrassment of what happened, it's that _Lysander Scamander_, the big, bad Slytherin, knows how she feels about him now – and that's more than she can bear.

She shifts slightly to try and get more comfortable, but all that happens is that the material of her jeans causes her to slip into a position that almost results in her falling from the branch. Her safe haven is no longer hers anymore; like the ignorant bliss of her love for Lysander being hidden, she no longer has the comfort of being able to fall back upon it. 'Dominique's safe haven' is just a tree now, she thinks bitterly as she jumps down to the ground; she's no longer anywhere that is just for her, because there's nothing here any longer.

Nothing other than a rotting tree and heartache that seems more destructive than anything else she's ever faced.

A wave of fierce determination washes over her, causing the shedding of tears to cease as her eyes snap up to note a figure running towards her in the distance. Part of her dares to dream that it could be Lysander coming to tell her he loves her; the rest of her quashes this hope because, let's face it, he's someone who has never shown her any interest so why would he now? No, it will just be Victoire or Lily…or if she's _really_ unlucky, it'll be Louis or James coming to rub in how stupid she's been – because Lysander could never love her, could he?

She's just little Hufflepuff Dominique, someone pushed to the side because she's not _outgoing_ like Victoire, or _ohsosweet_ like little Lily; she's just Dominique, someone who is solidly always there, someone with no issues other than loving someone who doesn't love her back.

Almost turning away, Dominique forces herself to stand and watch to see who is approaching her, see which member of her family is running out to her side, for reasons unknown.

She almost faints when she sees who it is.

Lysander.

* * *

><p>Dominique grabs a branch to keep herself upright, and manages to retain just enough composure to jump down from her tree and wait for Lysander on the ground. She knows what's coming, and figures she might as well face rejection and humiliation with as much dignity as she can muster. She won't give Lysander the satisfaction of seeing her crumpled and broken; she may only be a Hufflepuff, but she can be strong too.<p>

"Dom...hi," Lysander says softly when he reaches her. She automatically stands a little straighter, raising her chin and tensing every muscle.

"Hello."

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, of course I am," she replies, her voice containing a bite of sarcasm. Her earlier despair and embarrassment has mostly been replaced by self-righteous anger. How _dare_ he assume he can make everything better by simply faking a little concern? "Why wouldn't I be?"

Lysander, damn him, doesn't seem to notice the sarcasm. "It's just," he says, in the kindest voice Dominique thinks she's ever heard him use, "you ran out so quickly after...after..."

"After I k-kissed you," Dominique chokes out. He voice cracks, but she ignores it.

"Yeah. You looked...upset. Why?"

Dominique can't believe what she's hearing. Not only is Lysander still here, talking to her like a proper person, not just another girl he can snog and forget, but he's showing...concern. She frowns, confused.

"Why?" she repeats. "Why? Why d'you think?"

"I don't know," Lysander says, seeming genuinely confused. "That's why I'm asking!"

Dominique's steely determination falters a little. It sounds like he's telling the truth; that he doesn't know why she ran, and he really was worried about her. She marshals what remains of her anger as she replies, though: she hasn't forgotten that Lysander's a good actor.

"I ran away because I've been in love with you for months, _years_, without you even so much as looking at me, and I just as good as admitted it in front of my entire family. _That's_ why I ran, Lysander. Do you understand it now?" She spits the words out quickly, not giving herself time to regret them, but she feels her cheeks flame scarlet as she speaks.

Lysander nods his head, but he still looks puzzled. "You...you love me?" he asks gently, and again Dominique is struck by how kind he sounds. This isn't at all what she expected.

"Yes," Dominique replies, her voice harsh enough to hide her confusion. "Go on, laugh like I know you want to. Get it over and done with so I can go to bed, get away from-from all of you."

"But why would I laugh at you?"

It's this question, spoken in tones of such genuine bewilderment, that break through the tatters of Dominique's hard shell. She glances up at him with a wealth of questions in her eyes; they still glisten with the remnants of her earlier tears.

"Why would I laugh, Dom? I've been waiting to hear you say that for, oh, for months. Years. Longer than I can remember."

Dominique can't process this. "You mean..."

"I mean I love you, too. Of course I do; why wouldn't I?"

"But...I'm just...just Dominique," she protests. This doesn't make any sense at all.

"You're not 'just' anything. You're Dominique Weasley, and that's precisely why I love you. Now come here."

"Why?"

"So I can kiss you properly," Lysander says. "I didn't really get a chance before."

Dominique bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely and leans forward to kiss Lysander for the second time that evening. But this time it's different; this time, she knows the truth. This time, she can think, _this is how it feels to be me, _and like the sensation. She hasn't been able to do that in a long time.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading, and please review if you read this! It's much appreciated! (NGF members, you do get points in the Forum Competition for reviewing!)**

**And please don't favorite/alert without reviewing, thank you.  
><strong>


	2. Sid & Ro

**A new poll will soon by up on the profile so all readers can vote for which chapter they liked best!  
><strong>

**Pair:** Sid (loras-tyrells) + Ro (Macbeth Mouse)

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><p><strong>from the top of my head, to the tips of my toes.<strong>

* * *

><p>The sun shone down harshly on Dominique's tanned shoulder, it was partially covered with her wide straw sun hat, however as she leaned over towards Lysander, her uncovered skin became exposed and was touched by the hot Caribbean sun.<p>

Lysander looked up quickly, he was lying against the beach lounger next to Dominique, his sunglasses perched on his forehead as he looked down at his mobile with a frown.

"What's Freya saying now?" Dominique asked with a smile, she tapped her fingers against the shoulder of her friend and nodded her head to the light music that was playing. "Is she telling you to come home immediately? She could have come to the Bahamas with us if she wanted to," she adjusted her large sunglasses and looked up at the waiter who had come over, he had a peach sorbet in his hand and smiling he gave it to her. "Thank you," she said and began eating the cold snack. She passed it to Lysander, but he shook his head, absorbed in what was probably a very detailed text message.

_This doesn't work for me anymore. _

The illuminated words mocked Lysander. He was reading them over and over again, wishing they weren't really there. That it was a trick of the light.

Dominique was laughing away next to him, talking quickly about the concert they had the night before.

"Freya dumped me," he could hear himself say it, but he didn't quite register that his mouth was moving.

His girlfriend, of two years, dumped him, via text.

The blonde next to him stopped talking, she put the sorbet down and sat up quickly, she turned her body to him, her feet disappearing in the warm sand, her hands already taking Lysander's. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft.

It was her usual reaction to anything that happened to Lysander. She turned into a mother hen and she always scolded herself over it later.

Lysander didn't know what to say, this was unexpected. Freya had said no to coming on the tour with them, but he thought it was just because she couldn't take a month off work. Maybe it had been more? He just shook his head and felt himself be enveloped by Dominique's strong arms.

"Why don't we practice, it might take your mind off it?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by his bare shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," Lysander replied, he thought he sounded pathetic, and he felt even more so when Dominique helped him up, grabbed their towels and led him into the hotel.

As they walked through the foyer, his song began playing, the song he had written for Freya, the song he had written when he first said 'I love you', the song that was dedicated to her at the beginning of every concert. He could feel his cheeks heating up as the vocals began, his and Dominique's voices harmonizing as the acoustic guitar played beneath the words.

Dominique looked up at her friends face and sighed, she slapped his cheek lightly, as they moved into the small room they had acquired specifically for band practice. She moved over to the two guitars in the corner, handing one to Lysander, sitting him down and moving his hands to grip the guitar.

"Play it away," she said.

Her fingers wrapped around the neck of her own, soft- maple guitar, her fingers began plucking the strings, notes to the song that they had been working on for the past month. She looked up at Lysander's defeated expression, her own heart straining at the look, she wished she could do something for him. But all she could really do was play a pretty tune and sing a pretty melody. That was how she thought of herself, not brave, not devious, not exactly intelligent, a Hufflepuff through and through if she ever did see one. The defeatist girl. Her own worst enemy.

…

They continued the tour. There had only been a couple weeks left of it, but everyone could tell Lysander had changed. He hardly spoke, he performed, and that was it, there were no dedications, the light in his eyes had dimmed, and his voice had no soul in it.

When they got back to England, he stayed in his flat. He never came out and it frustrated Dominique. He was her friend, admittedly over the years, they had become best friends. She relied on him. It had been him who had walked her off the ledge in her Fifth Year, he had been the one who had held her as she cried all night afterwards, wishing that her mother wasn't ill. He'd made everything better, and that's all she wanted to do for him, she loved him, she would do anything for him.

Dominique searched through her bag for a key. She stood outside of Lysander's apartment, he wasn't answering her knocks, so she had resorted to letting herself in. She felt the cool metal of his door key slip against her fingers and once it was removed from her bag, she unlocked the door.

Lysander was lying on his sofa, looking directly up at the ceiling. Bouquets of fresh flowers littered the counter tops, it was likely they were fan gifts from the event they had been to the night before. She stepped into the room, her lips pursed as she stood above him. He barely registered her, and continued to look at his white ceiling.

"Could you please be responsive?" she asked, she sat on the edge of the sofa, beside Lysander who looked far away, "I know it hurts, of course it does, but it doesn't mean you have to ignore me, I am here for you, and you know that," Dominique continued. She poked him in the side and he hardly moved.

She couldn't hide the sigh that came from her throat, "your mum asked me to give this to you, considering you don't want to open the door to her either and you've warded your flat from apparition." Dominique sifted through her bag again, she took out a little charm – a Butterbeer cap with Turkish eyes dangling from it.

He wouldn't take it, however, so she laid it on the coffee table.

"I'm only a phone call away, okay?" Dominique said, she kissed his cheek softly and pausing to look him over quickly, she disappeared through the door, leaving Lysander to mope.

…

Dominique turned up again the next day, this time with a sandwich and bottle of water, not trusting her friend to have made himself something to eat.

He had at least changed his clothes, she noted and his hair was still damp from a shower. The flowers still lay unmoving on the counter, they drooped slightly, needing water. While Dominique forced Lysander to eat, she moved the flowers into vases and glasses, the flowers already looking healthier.

There was only one difference to the room, there was sheet music splayed across the coffee table, large crosses covered the pages and they were half ripped.

"I hope you know, Lys, that Mike will be around if he thinks you aren't working on a masterpiece," she smiled but when she looked over to the silent brunette, her expression dropped and she shook her head. "Call me if you need me," she called just before she left, her eyes giving him one last glance before she backed out of the flat.

…

He was as moody as ever, the next day. She found him glaring at the wall this time, throwing a tennis ball and catching it as it bounced back at him.

"Do you need anything?" she asked him, wiping down the kitchen counter, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder and out of her way. She turned to him, annoyance hidden behind a weak smile, he looked up, his face still stuck in a grimace.

"Would you stop being such a Hufflepuff, Dominique. I know you're supposed to be loyal, but I could really not use you now." He said harshly, his eyes glaring at her.

She stepped back defensively, her mouth slightly opening and her eyes swimming with hurt. "That's really a horrible thing to say," her eyes narrowed and she held tightly onto the handle of one of the cupboard doors, her knuckles were going white under the strain and she fought against hitting her best friend. "you can't just say things like that to me," she stepped away from the kitchen, threw the cloth at him and marched out, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks.

It wasn't often Lysander treated her like that, in fact, it was hardly ever. She was trying her best to make him feel a little better, and he treated her like that in return? It made her want to hate him, even though she knew she couldn't. He was upset, heartbroken, even, and though he was being horrible to her, she knew he didn't mean it. That's why she found it so easy to forgive him.

…

Lysander being indisposed meant that Dominique had a lot to deal with. Mike, their manager was already on their case because they hadn't been using their rented space to practice, they had a recording session set up for two weeks, and he was hoping for new material, specifically a new single. Dominique had to sway him with the little charm she had, nobody knew about the break up besides herself, Lysander and Freya, and she knew it would make everything astronomically worse if the public knew. Lysander wanted to be alone, and that was what she was mostly giving him. She was letting him be a lonely man for a week, but he'd have to snap out of it. She couldn't make that sound nice if she tried.

It was feeling like an impossibility to her, to get Lysander up, she'd sent him 3 Howlers in a row, and it had made no difference.

Dominique tried not to be insulted by his lack of communication; she hoped that he would open up to her at some point, because they weren't best friends for nothing. But she couldn't say that his dismissal of everything she was doing, wasn't hurting her. Whenever she turned up at his door, it took a lot of willpower not to cry out of frustration.

Lysander himself was hurting. He felt broken and betrayed. As far as he knew, Freya loved him, she wanted to marry him, she wasn't ready to let go of their relationship. Knowing that he was all wrong, he didn't know what to think. He couldn't even say anything to Dominique because what could he possibily have said? He expected her to come and pressure him, like she always did, he could trust her to do that. Therefore, Lysander was incredibly surprised when Dominique didn't turn up on the Saturday, two weeks after they had returned. There was no phone call, no Howler, nothing.

He watched the phone, waiting and when the sun finally set at 8pm, he picked it up to call her. There wasn't an answer.

…

She was gone. Dead. The healers said it happens sometimes, patients take a relapse, the illness lies dormant for years and can take them while they sleep.

They'd all been warned that it could have happened, but it didn't make it any better. Dominique had said her goodbyes to her mother, she was scared she wouldn't be able to, so she said goodbye and I love you every night. She was the only one who was really holding it together, which meant she was the most able of all of the family. Victoire had been crying for hours and Louis had disappeared. Her dad wouldn't leave his bedroom, he just lay on the bed. She needed Lysander, she needed her best friend to hold her and tell her that she'd be okay. But he was still sulking about Freya, even though it had been a month. He wasn't even pretending to try and get back to normality.

…

It was 3 days before Dominique turned up outside Lysander's apartment again, she opened the door and he wasn't sitting on the sofa like before. The flowers which sat in the vases were wilted, petals littering the surface of the countertops.

"Lysander?" she called out, his head popped out from his bedroom door.

"You didn't pick up the phone," he stated.

Dominique nodded and breathed, "I was –,"

Lysander didn't allow her to finish but approached her, speaking quickly, "Freya called me yesterday.

"What did she say?" Dominique asked quietly, looking down at her feet.

He looked annoyed, his arms crossed against his chest, "she told me that she was sorry. Sorry?" he exclaimed. He started pacing. Dominique wasn't looking at him, she was tired, but she went to see Lysander hoping he could help her and comfort her, but he was just being like before. Everything was about Freya. "Why aren't you saying anything?" he asked, trying to look into her face.

She looked up, quickly, her eyes were watering and she quickly wiped at them, her focus went to the blue curtains framing the kitchen windows. Lysander raised an eyebrow.

"You'd normally have something to say, what's wrong with you today? You're supposed to help me, Dom," he said exasperatedly, he shook her shoulders gently and she pushed at him.

"Stop doing that," she demanded, though her demands were weak and her voice broke midway.

"Seriously? What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Dominique finally looked up at him, directly in his eyes. Lysander noticed her eyes were red, and she had dark circles framing them. "Why are you being so selfish?" she asked, her voice not much above a whisper.

"I'm not being selfish!" he replied, he stepped away from her, he looked surprised.

"Yes you are!" Dominique's hands curled into fists and they were held tightly against her sides, "you're just clutching at straws now, look at you, you want the attention! You're so over her, I know you are!"

Lysander's mouth was screwed tightly, "how can I be over it, she was my girlfriend for two years!"

Dominique shrugged her shoulders, "you're not acting like it. You're just moping around, making my life a living hell. I tried to make it better for you, but you're not helping me help you. I have issues of my own, Lysander. If you even cared to notice, if you'd even pick up the phone to anyone. You've rung me, yet you won't pick up the phone to anyone else. Why?"

"Because you're Dominique," he was going red and the blonde across from him was crying fully now. Still she tried to keep the strength in her words.

"And what? Does that mean I'm your own personal therapist? I'm your friend, and you won't even pick up the phone when my cousins call you to tell you my mother died three days ago."

Lysander froze, his voice sticking in his throat and he attempted to say something. He stepped forward and shook his head.

Dominique had her head in her hands, crying into her open palms, her shoulders shuddering with every sob and her hair covering her face and hands. She wasn't paying attention to Lysander, and only noticed him when his arms wrapped around her shoulders and her head rested against his chest. He squeezed her tightly, her arms wrapped around his waist and she let herself cry against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said into her hair, squeezing her tighter. "I'm so sorry."

"Apologies won't bring her back," Dominique said, sniffling and sucking in huge breaths.

He nodded, "I know, Dom, I'm still so sorry. I shouldn't have ignored the calls, but you know how I felt, how I feel, you could have come before."

She sniffled, wiping her nose and closing her eyes, "I wish you wouldn't care so much," she said quickly. Dominique wasn't exactly thinking ahead, she was just saying how she felt. Her emotions running high.

"What do you mean? Of course I care, you're my best friend," he replied. He pushed Dominique away slightly, looking her in the eyes.

"Not me, Freya," she said honestly. She sniffed again, her face was much calmer than before.

Lysander gave her a strange look, "but she was my girlfriend, I loved her, what do you expect me to be like?"

"Loved," echoed Dominique, "I thought you weren't over her?" she asked. Lysander pushed her at arms distance and frowned.

"Well…I'm not," he replied tightly, his fingers squeezing into Dominique's shoulders.

She bit her bottom lip softly, "you say that you care, but you don't exactly seem to feel what you are saying." She commented, she rubbed at the back of her neck uncomfortably and tried to not look Lysander directly in the eyes.

"I do. What do you mean I don't feel it, I feel it just fi –,"

Dominique's lips pressed quickly against Lysander's. Her hands taking grip of his jaw and her lips kissing him swiftly, she let go as fast as she had held on and stepped back, fear screaming in her eyes.

"Oh," was all Lysander said, his lips still tingling from the kiss and his arms quickly forgotten by his sides, having dropped from Dominique's shoulders.

The blonde made an uncomfortable gesture before backing away, she was about to turn and run for the door, when Lysander's fingers gripped onto her wrist and he held her still. "You can't just kiss me and leave," he sounded angry, but his eyes were relaxed.

"I was…trying to prove a point?" she tried, gripping at straws and getting nothing.

He snorted, "I'm sure you were, so what am I supposed to have learnt now?" he asked, his grip was getting tighter on Dominique's wrist, and she wanted to shake free.

"I…I don't know," she stuttered out, confused by the situation, not realising that she was contradicting herself and making Lysander smile in amusement. "Stop smiling," she attempted a frown, but it had no depth. "I was just…" she tried to think of an excuse again and internally scolded herself for not being able to think of one.

Lysander stopped smiling and his grip loosened until he dropped her hand, Dominique was crimson, especially as his hand slid up to her neck, pulling her to him lightly, before he laid a kiss on her lips, his eyes closed tightly as if in deep thought. Dominique was too surprised to do anything but stand there, unmoving.

The kiss was short, Lysander stepped back, his hands by his sides again and he looked over at the frozen expression his best friend had on her face. "What?" she managed, her voice incredibly stiff and strained.

"I was just checking something," he replied, he sounded normal, but his fear was evident in the scarlet colour of his neck and cheeks.

Dominique breathed out in exasperation, her question obvious to Lysander from the flick of her eyes and the quirk of her head.

"Well if there's a difference," he scratched his head and watched as Dominique repeated her expression, he bit his lip and folded his arms, "between the way it feels to kiss you and to kiss Freya."

"Oh," Dominique said, it came out with a breath and she stepped back slightly. "Well what did you discover?" her voice was just above a whisper, and she looked to the side of her, staring out of the window and not wanting to catch Lysander's eye.

He cleared his throat, "it's different."

Dominique pretended to not be affected by what he said, and kept the little composure she currently had. Even though she felt slightly dizzy.

Lysander saw her slow blink and she still wouldn't turn to him. There was a difference, a big difference in his head, and he actually couldn't understand how he hadn't noticed it before. He loved Freya, but Dominique was his best friend, sometimes his only friend. The person he depended on, the person he had learnt to expect warmth and _love_ from, over the years. The girl he couldn't imagine his life without. He couldn't describe it himself and the only way he could think to translate how he felt, to Dominique, was with five words:

"…in the best way possible."


End file.
